


As you like

by bowblade



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:22:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29718525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowblade/pseuds/bowblade
Summary: Ashe wants to make Amélie feel.
Relationships: Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	As you like

**Author's Note:**

> how far to the edges of my comfort zone am i willing to go for the ouihaws: the eulogy

She's lying in bed with a beautiful woman. Head between Ashe's thighs, coaxing her toward her final high, the moment she'll become rigid and then _undone._ She knows Ashe is at tipping point. Can hear it as she tries to get off, breath hitched and cursing.

 _"Fuck,"_ she says, enunciating more syllables than there are, each one held as she whines. She's grasping at sheets with one hand, fabric pulled taught, and the other is tousled in Amélie's hair, desperately trying to get her to provide her end and it's not happening fast enough.

And then it does. She shudders, and jerks at her continued touch, everything too sensitive but not enough, and Amélie knows what she wants, replacing her tongue with several fingers as she kisses her and Ashe _writhes,_ moaning into her mouth as she finally comes.

She collapses beneath her, entirely supine. It's several long shuddering breaths before Ashe opens her eyes again, and the look she's giving her is so… haunting. There are so many faces the Calamity gives, but this one is for her, _only_ for her, lustful and wicked and wanting it all over again.

"I want—" Ashe starts, losing and relearning her vocabulary as she exhales, "I want to do _you."_

"As you like," Amélie says. She doesn't even need to think about it. It's a familiar precursor; Ashe is all _need_ right now, in a way she isn't. Sometimes she _does_ do her, and it's always… underwhelming, in comparison. _Disconnected._ It's there, it happens, it's over.

But that doesn't mean she doesn't want her to try. The arousal is there for her in its way, as is the attraction; to see her fall over the edge is nothing short of intoxicating, but it's all – mismatched. She can't equate herself to it. She knows this by proxy, by what Ashe wants and feels, and usually Ashe understands and is satisfied by it.

Not tonight. Tonight there's a measure of something else, of that not being enough, and her nose knocks against hers as she shakes her head. "No, no I want—I want you to _feel_ it."

She won't. Ashe knows that. But maybe she can. Maybe there's _something,_ even if it's small. It's all the moment, she knows, but she _believes_ that Ashe will give it everything. And if that isn't enough to win a girl over, what would be?

It's a game. Ashe has obviously been giving it a lot of thought outside of _now,_ repositioning herself so she's the one above her. She clicks her tongue against her teeth as her mouth pops open, lips perfectly parted as she _marvels_ her, bringing both of her hands to rest beneath Amélie's cheekbones, forefingers touching the backs of her ears, wrists knocking together.

"Whatever happens, I want you to look at me," she says. She sounds more serious and together than she has any right to be, when moments ago she was aching and ready to beg for it. "I need to _see."_

Amélie nods, as much as she is able. She can do that. Ashe has always been the expert at reading between her lines. She wants this. She _needs_ this. If anyone can do it, Ashe can.

It starts slow, sensual. She lets go of her face gradually, until the very tips of her fingers are beneath her chin, confident that she won't look away. She works her way down, over breasts and bone, looking for any sort of reaction. Amélie wonders. Is she holding her breath in—

Ashe reaches her thighs.

She doesn't make a sound, but she can feel the slight imprint of her teeth against her lower lip, barely apart. _Barely._

Anticipation, she files away.

Her fingers aren't yet inside of her which she suddenly finds infuriating, because they _ought_ to be, but Ashe again has her reasons, the touch against her legs gone as she reaches away, and she wants to look at whatever has caught her attention but she _promised._

"This," Ashe says. "May I?"

She's surprised by Ashe's restraint, that she hasn't asked her to fuck her with the strap-on already. Knowing Ashe she will, later, and Amélie plans to make her _scream._ But that sentiment is buried beneath the more pressing one, about the prospect of being _penetrated,_ and—

Staring certainly qualifies as a reaction, particularly as after she murmurs her yeses Ashe is putting it on and lining herself with her entrance and her patience is insurmountable and Amélie's isn't. Prelude, foreplay, whatever. The whole night's been a damn prelude and Ashe _still isn't inside her._

She's thinking about it. Ashe is watching her go to pieces at the idea of it, although none of it shows on her face, not until she frowns.

"Are you going to _fuck_ me, or what?"

It's not about Ashe, this, but the question makes the outlaw bite her lip, because Amélie knows how much she likes being in charge, how she can't ever not rise to a dare, or deny her _anything_ if she asks for it.

"You sure do have a way with words, sugar," she grins, all teeth and lust, and at last, at long fucking last she moves.

Amélie doesn't feel anything. She feels _it,_ Ashe inside her, Ashe's sigh, but she _doesn't,_ and she wishes, and she hates, and she wants—

Something.

Her thoughts focus. She looks at Ashe, her breasts brushing against hers as she finds a better angle, breath already different as she slides in and out. Her hands aren't idle, one pressing down against her thigh, the other against her clit, as many angles as she possibly can to _win,_ to get a rise. All those different things should be an assault on her senses, but instead it's just Ashe, the sounds and the emptiness and being full and that she _loves_ her, and—

Her breathing is laboured, like her heart has truly stopped. Or is it the opposite and it's going faster? She really wants to kiss her as she blinks, her mouth open to try to vocalise it, but all Amélie manages instead is the softest, briefest of titters as her breath tumbles out.

It's not quite a moan. But it might as well be.

Ashe hears. "You're into this," she says, and it's clear she is too. Whether she's figured it out or she wants it or a little of both she finds her way to Amélie's lips and kisses her, and this time Amélie _does_ moan into her mouth because yes, yes she is.

She doesn't know what to do with her hands anymore. Idle doesn't suit them. She rolls one shoulder, hand behind her own neck as she tries to arch herself closer, for Ashe to be _deeper,_ and the other rests below Ashe's abs, fingers shaking. She wouldn't be able to hold her gun right now if she tried, wouldn't even _care,_ just—

"Don't stop." Decisive. Looking her right in the eye for all that won't come out. "Don't— _Ashe…"_

Ashe shivers, the _way_ she's saying her name. "I'm here," she says. "Say, Amélie?"

She can barely think, but she agreed, and she can't allow her eyes to flutter closed, and all she can think and see and hear and feel is Ashe as her pace quickens, _everywhere._

The look is enough, not expecting words. "Come for me."

She does, and sees stars.

\- - - -

"Well I'd say that was a success."

She's smirking. Of course she'd take delight in ruining her, in each flash of feeling, in _winning._ Now she's in control of herself again, Amélie merely gives her a pointed look as Ashe continues to preen, pleased with herself.

Well. Two can play at this game.

Undoubtedly Ashe has other plans, but Amélie rises after her as Ashe begins to move away, denying it with her hands on her shoulders to keep her firmly in place as she climbs into her lap, a finger perfectly poised beneath Ashe's chin.

"I _think_ it needs a second showing," she says, and Ashe sniggers, because even like this, she's still won, particularly as Amélie's legs wrap around her middle because she has plenty of _other_ options on her bucketlist of ideas left to try, and hell if this wasn't one of them.

(Later Ashe makes a joke about saving a horse and riding a cowgirl, and the _disgust_ in Amélie's eyes is almost her biggest feeling of the night, and Amélie almost doesn't fuck her again. 

Almost. She's always been a staunch advocate for Ashe getting what she likes, and tonight is no exception.)

**Author's Note:**

> HONESTLY... i wrote this as "so not having feelings sounds remarkably ace in this setting" and wanting to explore that was a whole mood. smut as a plot device. :')


End file.
